Vortex of Glass
by Jonn Wolfe
Summary: Beings higher than the Guardians saw the end, and didn't like it overmuch. To rectify this, they appropriated several human concepts, then took a human who knew of the universe in question after his death, and gave him an offer. It's not all fun and games, though. This is diving through the Heart of the Untempered Schism Headfirst & trying to remain sane afterwards. Time Lord OC/SI
1. Arrival 1-1

Vortex of Glass - 1

* * *

A/N:

_Don't Own Squat, 'Cept the Plot.  
Canon shall be taken care of by cannon.  
It's a shiny cannon.  
Boom._

_That said, the ramifications of said cannon on canon have obliterated the 50__th__ anniversary special. So, no War Doctor. While I adored John Hurt, in my opinion he had no place in the Doctor's history. This means that McGann's Doctor was the one in the Time War, as it should have been and was in the Audio Plays. This also means that Gallifrey is actually gone. Sorry, not sorry._

_This story begins between the Torchwood episodes of "Small Worlds" and "Countrycide" of Series One. If some of you see this as an attack on Chris Chibnall and his writing abilities, I won't disabuse you of the notion. The man's a prat, as the lowest ratings for Doctor Who verify._

_Also, Series 2 of Torchwood will be ending quite differently, so Series 3 will also be _radically_ different. Series 4 Shall Not Occur. As for Doctor Who... Well, that was the whole reason for this being started in the first place. While that timeline is fluid, know that Martha is pining at the moment. Poor thing._

_If you are acquainted with CYOA's at all, this may be familiar. However, since I do not enjoy writing in first person, do not expect a similar style. This is __Based On__ the Doctor Who CYOA Jumpchain version 1.0, written by blackshadow111, in order to introduce an original character Time Lord. No, they won't get together with the Doctor. Even though romance will be happening, this isn't that kind of fic. __(Rose/Doctor OTP.)_

_You could _creatively_ call this a self insertion, if you wished. I'm not going to Mary Sue it to death, though. Not particularly fond of those. However, if you take the essence of what makes me __**me**__, then distil it through a few centuries of being a Time Lord born in the middle of the Time War, then this is what you're going to get for the most part._

_Whilst I am an American, my muse is British. Therefore, expect British spelling and phrases, except when spoken by an American. Feel free to Britpick, as I'll inevitably miss something. Just be kind about it, yeah?_

_May the Show Go On…_

* * *

**Vortex of Glass**

* * *

"_Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked me one more time. "This won't be kind to you **at all**. For someone who abhors pain as much as you do, you're diving into the deep end of it with both feet clad in cement."_

_I just smiled sadly. "Every lonely god needs an archangel."_

"_Oh and just for that, you're getting **that** one for free," she smiled, confusing me. But considering my choices in the past hour, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. "Now go and give them their happy endings," she said gleefully._

"_That was horrible, and I should be ashamed for finding humour in it," I lamented with a cringing smile._

_The last thing I heard from my benefactor was giggling laughter, before she kissed my forehead. Then all I knew for the longest time, was blinding pain and wanting to die._

* * *

**Torchwood Three** – Cardiff

* * *

Things had been weird over the past several weeks. Ever since Gwen joined up, there was something lingering in the hub when things were quiet. Jack noticed it after the first few times it happened, ironically during Gwen's loud marksmanship training. That had him get Toshiko to set up a recording program in order to catch the sounds and hopefully compile them into something that resembled coherence. By the time the program was ready to be reviewed, the entire team had noticed that things were… off.

The team was having Chinese take away in the conference room, while Tosh went over her findings a final time. She was still a bit shaken from the thing with the faeries, but focussing on work stemmed it a bit. She would _never_ look at flowers the same way ever again.

"So, the Hub's being haunted, News at Nine," Owen snarked around his egg roll.

Giving Owen a wide eyed stare for a moment, Gwen turned back to Jack. "Is that was this is about? Ghosts? Ghosts weren't a fun time supper conversation at home, especially after that whole worldwide Cyber fiasco."

Jack held his hands up to get them to wait. "Starting not one day after you joined, Gwen, there have been some strange things sounding off in the hub. Echoes from nowhere, general state of unease, that kind of thing. I'm sure you've all felt it."

"The computer glitches were what had me worried the most," Tosh stated. "If I didn't know any better, I would've sworn we were being hacked. However, several computers that aren't on the network for security reasons have also been affected."

Ianto paused mid bite with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Wireless hack?" he asked.

Tosh shook her head. "The servers in question are the archive, which aren't on any network, hardline or wireless."

"So, our _records_ are compromised?" Ianto pressed, frowning as that was one of his main duties, maintaining them.

"No," she refuted. "It all revolved around the clock settings, a few seconds lost here only to be gained back later, and then _extra_ seconds showing up then later lost… which is what had me diving into the circuit boards."

"And… _nothing's wrong,_" she slapped the table in annoyance. "Clock batteries are all charged properly; everything set the way they were supposed to be; it has been absolutely _maddening_."

Owen snickered. "So _that's_ why you were pulling your hair out two days ago."

"Ah," Gwen nodded. "Might I just say that you had quite the run of Japanese that day?" she grinned at her.

Blushing, Tosh half hid behind her hair. "Well, I can only take so much before completely losing it," she mumbled, finishing her meal and setting the box aside. "Anyway, turns out the timing issues corresponded with the strange noises. So, I compared everything, then set about washing that entire hot mess through several filters. Most were standard, but I had to write two of them from scratch."

"Thought I got it _wrong_ at first," she went on, "because the results came out in reverse. After getting the same answers even after going through... _several_ different methods, I realized that it was the sounds _themselves_ that were reversed in the first place. So, after turning it right way round, this is what we now have. Mind the gaps, though. No idea why they're still there. They shouldn't be."

They all listened to the rising and falling white noise, then noticed the somewhat distorted reverberations as it became louder overall, with short gaps of silence randomly popping up. Jack stood up sharply from his chair, just before the noise then stopped suddenly with a deep thunk.

"Oh, no way," Jack whispered, then spoke up. "Ianto, go to the temporal letter drop and see if anything's popped."

Ianto left in a dash as Gwen piped up. "Temporal letter drop?"

Tosh turned to her. "Sometimes things come at us out of order. The Rift is like a net that catches all sorts of things, dropping them on our shores, from pretty much any-_when_."

"Like garbage," came Owen's acerbity.

Tosh went on like he hadn't spoken. "Like a regular letter drop though, messages come in from time to time that can't be acted on until they become relevant. Most times they're from either our predecessors or successors, but sometimes not."

"Tommy's coming up soon, isn't he?" Owen asked. "Few days?"

"January," Tosh gave him a look. "It's _always_ January, and it's not even December yet."

"Right, sorry," Owen said, not sounding sorry at all. "Can't keep up with your boyfriend."

"Enough," Jack grumbled.

Ianto came back in carrying a small box, whose lid was askew. "It literally popped open when I stepped into the room."

"Spooky how they do that," Owen commented before finishing off his egg roll.

Jack took the box and set it on the table. "Let's see what we got this time." Looking inside, his eyebrows shot up. "A thumb drive? Tosh, that's yours," he said, handing it over. "And two letters. One for me, one for Gwen."

"If anything, that proves you're supposed to be working here," Tosh smiled to Gwen as the former police constable took the envelope. She opened hers the same time Jack did, and there was a bit of silence as they read.

"Damn," Jack eventually said, visibly deflating.

"Sir?" Ianto prompted.

Jack glanced at him, then back to his letter. "Not who I thought that audio was about. Just that they're friendly, wounded, and coming in straight from the front line. And, this is weird, but the word _the_ is underlined, like it's the only fr…" he paused as his eyes widened. "Oh, _hell_."

"So, _the_ front line?" Owen said. "Another soldier?"

"Not exactly," Jack said as he checked his watch, then the clock on the wall. "We have an hour before they show up."

"Audio file," Tosh said. "Playing it now."

"Why?" Own asked.

She looked at him. "Because the filename is _'PlayMeNowToshDotOGG'_."

"Ah," Owen made a face, then started on his noodles.

Gwen looked up from her letter, wide eyed, right before the letter flashed out of existence, startling everyone including Jack, whose own letter went up in smoke at the same time. "What the hell?" she blurted.

"They do that sometimes," Ianto said over his coffee. "No one really knows why, either."

"_Because those letters had private messages for Gwen and Jack on top of the information they needed,"_ a gender neutral voice said over Tosh's tablet speaker, gaining everyone's attention.

"Oh, what the fresh hell is this?" Owen said quietly, eyeing the tablet with suspicion.

"_This is a two way conversation occurring in real time over a single audio recording playing in your present,"_ the voice answered him. _"Do you understand, Jack?"_

"I've seen weirder," Jack nodded. "So, to whom are we speaking with?"

"_My actual name is both unpronounceable and incomprehensible to three dimensional beings. To put it into perspective, though, it would be like a telepath telling a single celled organism their birth name and expect it to both understand them and call them mother. You may call me Chan, though."_

Gwen nodded. "All right. But if they're wounded, why didn't you have a message left for Owen?"

"That _is_ my whole speciality," Owen half heartedly snarked.

"_Because the wounds in question are fatal, but will be erased before the first five minutes are up. All you need to do for the following twenty four hours, is monitor her temperature and ensure she's hydrated. If her temperature reaches above thirty two point two degrees Celsius, cold packs will be required as that would be akin to one of you having a forty one point three degree fever."_

"Christ. Got it," Owen nodded. "Any allergies I should be made aware of?"

"_Do not administer Aspirin under any circumstance, as that will induce anaphylactic shock."_ Owen's left eyebrow cocked itself with that bit of strange, yet important information.

"_Do keep soups handy though,"_ Chan continued, _"as she will be quite _beyond_ queasy when she wakes up. Salted crackers and other standard fare for one getting over a stomach virus wouldn't be a bad idea either. She'll want coffee, but that will cause vomiting if she's still queasy. Offer a soothing tea, instead."_

"Sounds like an infection," Owen mused. "Any idea what kind?"

"_Her immune system will be in flux for eighteen hours, as she adjusts from her rapid healing and the general systemic shock caused from it," _Chan explained, _"hence the precautions."_

"What do I do?" Gwen interrupted in a whisper. "I know what was in the letter, but my God, _what the hell do I do?_" she hissed.

"_Just be yourself, my dear. That's all you need. Jack would help, but there's a complication with that. He cannot be present, except through video link for the first thirty six hours after she wakes up properly."_

"And you didn't say _why_, either," Jack groused.

"_Not my story to tell. But, your presence would hurt her, as she's not currently prepared for it. And yes, it does pertain as to why you were left behind that one time."_

"Anything we _shouldn't_ do?" Tosh asked, noting Jack's brief hurt look.

"_Panic,"_ the voice deadpanned. _"That's all we have time for, I'm afraid. Thank you for this." _The file ended with a pop at that point, startling them.

"Well, what a load of bollocks," Owen complained. "How could we have a conversation with a _recording_?"

"Not that hard," Jack said with a wry grin. "Observe the conversation in real time while recording your own side of it, then send the recording backwards in time to the people that will be listening to it and having the conversation with you that you observed."

Owen blinked as his head ticked to the side. "What a convoluted _mess_ just to speak with someone! I couldn't even _begin_ to contemplate the logistics of setting something like that up. I mean, why bother?"

"Two reasons I can think of, off the top of my head," Jack said. "One, there might be a rule that Chan couldn't break in order to deliver it in person – like we do when interacting with the past or future, such as the temporal letter drop for a perfect example; and/or two, it may be completely impossible for us to even _perceive_ Chan in the first place. They did say how difficult it would be to discuss things with an amoeba, remember?"

Owen winced, then rubbed his temple. "Ow," he quietly complained.

"Don't strain yourself," Ianto dryly ribbed him.

"Oh fuck off, coffee boy," Owen grumbled.

"Girls, you're both very pretty," Tosh smirked. "Question is, what do we do now?" It was a monument to her shy nature that she completely ignored Owen flipping her off. Then again, that happened far too often to her mind for her to be embarrassed by it any longer. Owen could be such a wanker at times.

"Now, I need you to set up the video link they mentioned between my office and the bottom, back area of the hub," Jack said.

"Why there?" Gwen asked.

"That's where my letter said she'd arrive," Jack replied.

"And… _what_?" Owen barked. "We take everything at face value? Who's to say this person isn't hostile? This is _Torchwood_. Between aliens wanting to conquer, enslave, or even view us as a bag of _very_ tasty chips, e_verything's_ hostile!"

"Dial that back," Jack snapped with a glare. "Now."

Wincing again, Owen held a hand up. "Sorry," he actually sounded contrite for once. "Still, we've been burned so often that it would be the height of stupidity to not be cautious, at least."

"On the one hand, you're right," Jack allowed. "On the other, I _know_ the species in question, personally. That's how I recognised Tosh's scrubbed audio, _and_ knew to send Ianto to the temporal letter drop. I had thought that except for one person, they were completely extinct." He paused as his team started at that statement. "Turns out," he paused, blowing out a breath, "there are now _two_."

"That's why," Gwen whispered, not elaborating.

Tosh looked at her. "Why what?"

"Why _I_ have to be her initial point of contact," Gwen explained. "As a constable, I've had very extensive training on how to… well, how to talk someone _off of a ledge_ when they're horribly distraught. If she really is one of only _two_ survivors of her _entire species_, then she _is_ going to be suffering from survivor's guilt and most likely be suicidal over it."

"Oh, hell," Ianto said.

Blinking, Jack stood up again. "_Damn_. Okay. Ianto, Owen, with me. We'll clear the… landing zone. Tosh, get started on setting up the video conference in my office. And Gwen," he paused to look at her. "I'm sorry, but you need to get your head around this before she shows up. I've… dealt with something similar with the other one, but he was in the _very angry at everything_ stage of grief at the time. She's going to still be in the initial shock from the word _go_."

Nodding, Gwen stood up and followed Tosh out of the conference room. _'This is going to suck so much,'_ she thought to herself. Potential suicides were the worst duty police had to handle, and she wasn't looking forward to it at all. A life was in their hands, and saying something wrong or too patronizing or a hundred other ways something could go _extremely badly_, and that life lost was on them… On _her_.

* * *

**Gallifrey**

* * *

How does one describe being a small vessel for an overabundance of _everything, _filled beyond the point of bursting? How does one condense over three hundred years into a few paragraphs? How does one describe how you can 'see' time, smell trouble, and have the ability to dance amongst dark matter energies in order to hide oneself away?

The short answer is that you _can't,_ while the long answer would be along the lines of you couldn't with even more _verbal frippery_. So, a summation would be required to be put in place for my experiences from the moment Chan kissed my forehead to the instant my TARDIS arrived in the hub of Torchwood Three.

The core of my consciousness' sense of self was preserved, while the rest of it was shattered beyond comprehension. I eventually emerged from the House of Stillhaven's looms at the physical age of a toddler, completely surprising the Kitriarch of the House. My previous life's knowledge was suppressed while I learned how to be a Time Tot. Yes, that's what we were called. Silly, right?

At the temporal age of eight Gallifreyan years old, _which was somewhere around the age of sixteen on Earth_, I was taken before the Untempered Schism for my opening ceremony and induction into the Academy. I was one of five new inductees, and the only girl of the class. I was a girl now. Girls are cool. Sorry, had to be said.

My reaction to the Untempered Schism was as much an anomaly as my spontaneous Looming. I didn't run, go mad, or became inspired. For a brief eternity, my original memories woke up as I saw the entirety of the Last Great Time War that was currently raging across the cosmos, as well as my future part in it.

So if anyone had known about _that_, it would've been right obvious as to why I had fainted dead away – _which they eventually determined to be a 'run' category, after questioning me._ This is especially true, when one considered who my biological progenitors turned out to be. And I'll keep that bit to myself for now, thanks.

My attendance in the Academy had been considered exemplary, as I neither missed a lesson, nor was ever late. The mental organisation of my mind, as well as my sense of time made it so that I always knew 'when' I was. Slowly over my time there, my previous memories and experiences became known to me through dreams and meditative visions. I was barely past my first centennial when that process completed.

However, it was _just_ the knowledge of my previous life. While aware of it, I was acting on the assumption that I was your everyday Time Lord. The entire conversation with Chan that happened after my death at the age of fifty was still suppressed. Oh, I knew I was an out of context complication to the universe, I simply didn't dwell on it overmuch. That conversation wasn't remembered until after I was able to join the fight. And even then, I was still in what I termed _prelude mode_, as in not completely conscious of what I was doing. That came after my arrival on Earth.

Unlike other more infamous classes like the Deca, whom both the Doctor and the Master, as well as the Rani were part of, we five went through nearly everything with a relish of the desire to simply learn everything possible. Info stamping the more basic rotes of memorization freed up our study periods for more specialized tutoring. While that didn't make things easier, per say, it did give the basic rules, laws, and languages that every Time Lord or Lady required.

They were nice blokes, my classmates. We viewed each other as acquaintances and competitive grade rivals, rather than friends though. There was too much to learn to get caught up in other nonsense. About the only thing we did as a bit of ironic humour, was laughingly call ourselves the _Pentax_ in homage to the infamous Deca. Truthfully, we just wanted to outscore that class by breaking their academic records.

Out of the five of us, I was the only one who passed their pilots training the first time through, _and_ managed a respectable grade for it at the same time. That didn't mean I didn't take the course again to improve my skills as well as my scores, though. It seemed that I was more inclined for precision, _as well as being a bit of a perfectionist_, but thankfully I didn't let that go to my head. Arrogance bred failure in my mind, and too much was riding on what I needed to do. There was a war on, after all.

My first assignment or internship was with the Archives of Gallifrey as an assistant librarian. There was a lot more involved than that, due to communications and etcetera, but that was the general gist of it. While that would indeed sound extremely boring for a forty year internship, it did give me the opportunity to set up a backup archive with the complete approval of the High Council.

Redundancy was one of those things that made things easier for everyone, and backups did save lives. Plus, that project enabled me to creatively acquire my own copy. Nothing was spared, from common letters and journals to code Cobalt Black restricted information, as all historical records were triplicated for inclusion to the secondary archive on the opposite side of the planet, as well as my own library on my TARDIS.

As for my TARDIS, she's a lovely ship. While considered extremely obsolete for wartime purposes as a Type 40, for a personal ship she was simply invaluable to me. The first thing I had updated was her chameleon circuits. It was slightly silly, but I couldn't help myself in creating a 'stand by' mode that resembled a medallion with the seal of Stillhaven on it, which I simply wore around my neck. Said mode enabled us to bond more directly and much more swiftly than was normally possible, as it turned out. Had to do with her more direct contact with my hearts, or something. The impressions on that subject were rather vague, actually.

Plus, the absolute relief in knowing that I had an emergency escape on my person at all times, was an enormous burden that had been lifted from me. I had no frame of reference as to when things were going to spiral out of control, after all. The only thing I had were names of battles in my head. Battles of which I had been suddenly thrust into with the failure of Gallifrey's Transduction Barriers. I had just reached the halfway mark past my third centennial, too. Happy Birthday. Yay.

Placing an isomorphic temporal lock on the backup archives, I boarded my TARDIS and flung myself into the thick of things. Only after I was in extreme high orbit did I recognise the Nightmare Child that was feasting on the Transduction Barriers themselves. That was supposed to be impossible.

Other than myself – _and I had no weapons_ – forty eight different TARDIS were in the middle of combat with the First Dalek Fleet, including one similarly unarmed British Police Box who appeared to be in the middle of a rescue operation. I could only shake my head at the _utter lunacy_ in trying to save the Father of the Daleks.

It was at that point that my TARDIS and I synced completely though, and I suddenly remembered Chan as well as what happened after I had died as a _human_. Luckily I wasn't under fire at the time, because I ended up reliving things again at a one minute to ten years of remembrance. In that review, I realized that my core values hadn't changed, and my point of consciousness was identical. However, I knew there were things still to do before I was left to my own devices. That being said, there was work to be done.

Conserving power by going 'bare skin' with the internal theme of the ship at its base coral, I had to tow the Doctor's TARDIS out of the Maw of the Nightmare Child. Think of it like two ice skaters taking hold of each other just long enough to fling each other in different directions, and you would have a decent idea as to how that went.

A brief, _"Thank you for the assist,"_ from the Eighth Doctor and that was the last I heard of him before the end came six years later. That may not sound like a long time, but considering travel through the vortex was a thing, those six years spanned the majority of the Time War from start to finish. And, I made quite the nuisance of myself in that time, shadowing things and giving brief assistance to untenable positions, or nudging things this way and that – saving whom I could. I hardly slept from all I was doing to even _acknowledge_ High Command.

And, since I couldn't listen to them, they wrote me off as a renegade despite the fact that I was saving lives. I wasn't overly bitter about that, as I did understand where they were coming from. Still though, it was annoying as most of my access codes were invalidated.

Put simply, I was a lone U-boat amongst fleets of giants, poking them with the equivalent of a _stick_. Three years into that, and I realized what Chan meant by _"getting that one for free."_ I avoided that whole legendary naming thing on that list, simply because _I didn't want to be known, dammit_. And, my statement of every lonely god needing an archangel bit me on my freckled backside as well.

I just wanted to be a shepherd, nudging things about and tending my own. Simple, direct, and above all, _stealthy_.

_But no._ The bloody Daleks _Named_ me, and I became the 'Archangel of Death.' _Bloody wankers._

No accounting for taste, those pepper pots. Though I suppose partial blame for it could be laid at my feet, mainly for using the vortex _itself_ as a weapon. Chased the Cybermen and the Nestene out of the war in so doing, while saving Adaposia and Sto… so it was still a win in my book.

Then word came through that the High Council – under Rassilon himself – had completely lost their collective mind, and somehow the Doctor had stolen the original D-Mat Gun out of Deadlock Storage. I couldn't get through to Romana or any of High Command. However, the Kitriarch of Stillhaven sent me a 'text' message, shocking me with the simplicity of the circled language: _"Run. Run Now. Don't look back, my daughter. Run!"_

The Kitriarchs of Stillhaven and Lungbarrow had opposed Rassilon's insane bid for ascension through the destruction of the Vortex, as well as the sacrifice of the rest of the universe. For that reason, they were the two who ended up covering their faces with their hands while standing behind Rassilon during his Final Speech.

The _Immediate Urgency of Now_ flooded me as I ran around the console, setting the screens of a temporal prism offset around the ship along with what meagre shields my Type 40 had, as I ploughed through the vortex at top speed. The shockwave was coming, and I have to admit to feeling some existential horror from that.

Immediately after I had reached over to throw the final switch, the console exploded – flinging me across the console room. I heard _Billions_ of Time Lord and Gallifreyan death screams directly in my brain. Obi-Wan completely undersold the feeling; That _moment_ which seemed to stretch forever as I felt each of them screech in agony; men, women, children… all while I was still in the air. Then I crashed into the wall, and there was absolutely _nothing_.

_**NOTHING!**_

* * *

**Torchwood Three**

* * *

Over the past hour, the boys cleared out one of the alcoves in the back and added a portable bed. This was after getting Myfanwy in her caged perch with generous amounts of chocolate. No sense in letting the winged lizard loose during this, after all. Honestly, Gwen wondered at the sanity of keeping a _dinosaur_ indoors.

She had helped set up cameras pointed at the alcove, while Tosh set up a single camera and the controlling software in Jack's office. Two were on rotating gimbals that Jack could direct, while the third was setup as an over-watch.

A rumble through the hub got everyone back from the alcove. Gwen stayed in the general area, while the rest of the team congregated in Jack's office around his main monitor. She had a comm in her ear though, so Jack could help if needed.

Then the noise started up again, sounding far away at first. Popping noises initially sounding like firecrackers came from the alcove as the noise got louder. Interestingly enough, the popping accounted for the gaps in the scrubbed audio from earlier.

"_Okay, they're coming in hot," _Jack's voice sounded in Gwen's ear. _"Just breathe and try to stay calm."_

"Easy for you to say," Gwen mumbled.

"_Be out there if I could," _Jack said, _"and I honestly want to be."_

Gwen could see a grey, metallic cylinder begin to fade into existence. More pops that grew into a loud cracking showed what looked to be arcing bolts of miniature lightning, striking it. Eventually, there was a thunk that reverberated throughout the Hub, and then Gwen felt the absolutely _oddest_ sensation.

"Oh, that is just too creepy, that is," she slowly whispered. "The bloody thing is _looking_ at me."

Lines appeared in a rectangle up the length of the cylinder, then the metal that was inside those lines recessed slightly, before sliding sideways to her right as it opened with a hum. She blinked when a greying redhead looked like she was shoved out of it from behind, who then fell to her knees.

The woman had caught herself on her left hand, while her right was pressed to her chest. Gwen was shocked to see that hand wrapped around something sticking out of her, which she then jerked forward, yanking out what looked to be a shorn rod of some sort, to let clang on the floor covered in orange blood.

"_Jesus,"_ she heard Jack whisper.

"_Open chest wound,"_ Owen said. _"Hope it erases soon, otherwise I'll be performing an autopsy."_

A slight whining noise announced the woman's hands beginning to glow, the woman noticed and clenched her fists, gusting out a weak sounding, "No."

"_Shit,"_ Jack said. _"She's holding it back. They're like a phoenix, who rise from the ashes in fire. If she's holding that back, you were right in thinking she's suicidal, Gwen. Convince her to let go, or otherwise she's going. to. die."_

"Hey," Gwen said quietly as she knelt a bit away from her. "Hello? My name's Gwen. Who are you, sweetheart?" This caused the woman to look up. Gwen gasped at the sight, as the woman's eyes were simply _empty bloody sockets_. Her face was horrifically burned as well, as was half her head of hair. "Oh my God. What's happened to you?"

"Dead," she whispered. "They're all dead. Just me, now."

"_Tell her she's wrong!"_ Jack's voice nearly shouted in her ear, and she heard his muffled voice coming from the office as well. _"The Doctor's still alive!"_

"_Who?" _Owen asked.

Ianto sounded accusatory for some reason, _"The Doctor?"_

"_Not now,"_ Jack snapped.

"No, you're not," Gwen said quickly. "The Doctor survived just like you."

"Oh, of _course_ he's alive," the woman spat, then coughed wet rasping hacks that sounded ugly. "He _caused_ it!" she wheezed. "I felt them _all_ die. Men… women… _Children_!" The effort reduced her to hacking coughs again. The whining noise came again from her hands, which closed to fists, cutting off the glow. _"No,"_ she weakly protested again.

"You have to let go," Gwen said. "You have to or you'll _die_."

"_Let me die,"_ the woman wheezed. "Better off for it. I can still hear them _screaming_. It's so quiet now. _How can you stand it?"_

The letter she'd received in mind, Gwen's voice became stern. "Remember who you are, Shepard! Remember what you set out to do! You've done the first part! _Let Go!_" she ordered.

Shepard jerked at the shout. "Why do I know your voice?"

"My name is Gwen Cooper," she told her, inching forward. "You're in Torchwood Three in Cardiff. It's the 14th of November, 2006 and you have a lot of work left to do. So Let Go! _NOW!"_ she barked.

"Gwen?" Shepard looked more animated. "Cardiff. Torchwood. Javic. Gray. Hart. Four Five Six. Thedreamiscollapsing. _ ' . _I'veneverdonethisbefore. Oh, _Cosmos_ I'm scared!"

"_Ooh, she's young,"_ Jack commented, sounding strained.

"Just let go, sweetheart," Gwen urged. "That's _all_ you have to do. Picture what you need to and _let. go._"

More hacking coughs. "How do you know all this?" came out in a strangled whisper.

Gwen rested a hand on Shepard's shoulder. "Chan left us messages on what to tell you when you arrived."

A smirking half snort turned to more coughing. "_Course_ she did. Why'd I doubt her word?"

"Because you're in shock and bleeding to death," Gwen said in a perfect deadpan. "Now picture what you need to and let _go_, for heaven's sake!"

"_Is anyone else hearing music?"_ Ianto asked. She did as it turned out. Seemed to be coming from Shepard. Odd, that. Gwen decided to ignore it and focus on what was in front of her.

"Help me up and step back, please," Shepard whispered, her left hand up.

Gwen caught Shepard's hand and arm and slowly helped her stand. "There can't be anyone to my left or right," Shepard continued, "or they'll get caught in it, and _that's bad_."

"Just me here," Gwen said. "Everyone else is in Jack's office, watching through cameras."

"Lock down the recording's please," Shepard said. "Now step back, or you'll get hurt."

Making sure Shepard was steady, Gwen backed up a few steps. _"More,"_ Jack said. _"At least ten feet, or you'll get burned."_

"Oh, this _hurts_," Shepard rasped, staring empty eyed at her hands as their glowing had come back with a vengeance. "They didn't say it'd hurt so much. _WillIstillbeme_?" she started panting, and Gwen could see a frothy bubbling under Shepard's right breast.

"Picture what you need," Gwen said again, "and _let fly_!"

"I'd say something pithy, but I can't think of anything," Shepard wheezed, her back arching. A grimace of pain went over the remnant of her face as it began glowing as well. "Dark hair," she whispered. "Green eyes. Petite. Younger. _Ohhpleaseohplease…"_

She gasped, then a calm whisper came out of her unlike her highly panicked state. _"Prelude's done and you did very well, Shepard. I release you. Your story begins… Now!_"

Gwen's eyes were as wide as they could be as she watched Shepard's arms fling themselves wide with a bang, screaming as she exploded from her head and hands in a golden white glare. Squinting, she could see Shepard's hair whip about as she appeared to shrink a bit. Her screaming rose in pitch as well.

Then the light and noise was gone, and an equally wide eyed Shepard was staring back at her, gasping. "Hallo!" Shepard said loudly with a big smile. "Did I get the eyes right? Green?"

Smiling back, Gwen nodded. "Yeah. You're adorable."

"_Thank_ you!" Shepard said, "Nice to see your gorgeous face too! Oh, my hearts are going." She grabbed her hair to look at. "Ooh, _black_. Good." She then touched her chest briefly as she looked down. "Mm. Perky!" She turned around and patted the side of the cylinder she arrived in. "Good Girl! You got us here! You got… You got… us…"

Gwen was concerned when Shepard slowly turned back around, but it was the look of stunned horror on Shepard's face that alarmed her.

"No," squeakily breathed out of Shepard as tears spilled out of her new eyes. She curled forward slightly as her mouth dropped open. A full body shudder went through her. "Ohhhhh, _They're DEAD!_" she shrieked.

Stepping over quickly, Gwen caught Shepard up in a hug as the woman collapsed into horrible sobbing. Neither noticed the golden wisps that came out of her mouth, nor that they seemed to be sucked inside her TARDIS.

"Got you," Gwen said as she eased them down to their knees again. "Oh, I've got you, love. It'll be okay." She started rocking the emotional wreck of a woman, feeling useless. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you." All she could do was repeat stupid platitudes, while Shepard bawled her eyes out. _'Oh, I'm rubbish!'_ she lamented.


	2. Arrival 1-2

**Vortex of Glass – 1.2 Arrival**

* * *

Field Marshal Lethbridge-Stewart, _the man they would never let retire_, had just sat down in his office. The mug on his desk in front of him gave him a small grin. Coffee was always required in order to help clear his head for the morning these days. Of course, he barely had two sips before his MA ducked back into his office with a quizzical look on his face. "Yes, Major?"

"Sir, sorry for the bother," Major Burke started, "but there's a Captain Harkness on the secure line for you. What's odd about it, is that he claims to be the Director of _Torchwood_. Wasn't that supposed to be Yvonne Hartman?"

Now while that was a rather ignorant question, he remembered that Burke had been in Africa at the time. Rather than go into full detail, he simply sighed. "Daleks and Cybermen, Burke. Daleks and Cybermen. Which line?"

"Ah," the man nodded ruefully. "Three, sir."

"Thank you," he said with a wave to the door.

"Sir," Burke said before leaving.

Picking up the line, he could be forgiven for a bit of surliness this early in the day. "Harkness, I'm not even done with my first cuppa this morning, so whatever this is, please be succinct."

"_Time Lord," _was the response.

Blinking, he said, "One moment," he held the phone away from his ear and forced half of his coffee down. Now properly armed, he tried to get more out of the impossible man. "While that _was_ rather succinct, I'm afraid I'll need a bit more detail if you please. Is this about Him?"

"_No, sir." _Harkness replied. _"There's another. I've read your report on being visited by Him right after he survived the Time War. I… well… I was looking for some advice, really."_

"It's not that Master bloke, is it?" Stewart asked, alarmed and quite awake now, thanks. "Right blighter, that one."

There was a slight chuckle over the line. _"Ah, no. Well, not unless they can change their gender, which I wouldn't put past either of them, but this one is called The Shepard."_

Sighing in relief as well as exasperation, he was disgruntled. "Why the devil can't any of them have proper names, for heaven's sake?" he grumbled. "What advice were you looking for, Captain?"

"_Shepard arrived last night directly from the end of the Time War, and immediately regenerated from her wounds,"_ Jack explained. _"Sounded like it was her first one, since she was scared of it. She's currently sleeping that off after having a mental breakdown all over my Second's shirt."_

"Bother," he muttered. That first night with the Doctor went just as well, he remembered.

"_Yeah,"_ Harkness sighed. _"She had to be convinced to let it happen too. Said she __felt and heard__ the rest of them dying and nearly joined them outta shock. Cooper's handling that, but my question is more about the role He had in UNIT. If this goes the way I think it will, she will be Torchwood's Scientific Advisor when this is over, and I was wondering about the logistics of having her on the payroll."_

"Ah," he nodded. "Well, the main thing is setting boundaries and doing your level best to get her to keep them. If this Shepard is anything like the Doctor, she will most likely have you pulling your hair out more often than not. Current procedure has the Scientific Advisor in an equivalent rank to a _Brigadier_ in UNIT, with appropriate pay and etcetera. Not that she'll be overly fussed about that part, mind. He didn't care, and is still on the books with an account at Barclays."

"_Right," _Harkness replied. _"Now I just need to figure out how to deal with her obvious survivor's guilt." _He heard the man sigh.

"That will have to be taken as it comes, I'm afraid," he said gently. "In a perfect world, she would be in weekly to daily sessions with a qualified therapist. Seeing as this _isn't _a perfect world, however," he trailed off as something else came to mind. "Also, please do be aware that you might _lose_ one of your personnel to her if she decides to go gallivanting off. If she's anything like Him, one of them is going to become emotionally involved."

"_Oh, this is going to be such a pain in the ass, I just know it," _he heard Harkness mumble, and smirked at the shared pain.

"I could have one of our therapists sent down," he brought himself back to the subject at hand, "but I imagine they would have things thrown at them rather… _creatively_. So, I expect that you have an idea on what to do instead?" he said, darkly amused.

There was a scoff. _"Duck and Cover, and wait for an opportunity to get her drunk so she can vent properly."_

Stewart chuckled. "Alcohol doesn't affect Time Lords, Captain."

"_Oh, that bastard!" _Jack swore.

Laughing now, his comment was rather dry, considering. "Drank you under the table, did he?"

"_Several times,"_ Harkness confirmed, sounding mulish.

"He caught me out on that more than once myself before I caught wise to that particular titbit, so I understand _that_ hangover," his smile was wide now.

"Still," his mood dropped. "You have my deepest sympathies on having to deal with that. _Best_ advice I can give you is to listen when she talks, and do _not_ attempt to get her to do so _before_ she's ready. I spent a month dealing with Him and His issues, so I know what I'm speaking of."

"_And that's the hard part,"_ Harkness lamented.

He nodded. "Quite."

"_Thank you," _he said.

"Will I be seeing a report?" he asked.

There was a pause. _"That… might not be a good idea, Sir. The fact that I was able to get hold of yours on Him doesn't bode well for operational security. Face to face might be better, considering."_

"Keep me apprised, at any rate," he said, finishing off his coffee and the call. Yes, that was a rather abrupt cut off, but dammit he was right. Another note to go on the schedule over security matters. _Again._ '_Probably acquired it through the infernal computers,'_ he thought.

* * *

Jack sighed, looking at the phone before putting it back in its cradle. "Probably shouldn't have mentioned the security bit," he mumbled before standing to get his own dose of caffeine.

He found Ianto to the side of the huge, French coffee contraption, tending a steaming pot of what smelled like tea. "You don't usually make tea any more. What's the occasion?"

"Gwen said our guest is stirring," Ianto said with a nod towards the alcove.

Jack nodded back. "And she's off coffee until she can handle it, right. How you doing? Get enough sleep?"

"About five hours," Ianto confirmed. "Owen and Tosh went home and aren't back yet, but Tosh did say she'd be bringing in some food when she got in." He checked his watch. "which should be in another thirty minutes."

"Gwen hasn't slept, has she?" Jack asked.

Ianto shook his head. "Nope. She's taking this on rather seriously. Watched her a bit, and she grabs Shepard's hand whenever she starts acting like she's having a nightmare." He chuckled. "It's almost sweet, but she's not going to be much help with anything else for a while."

"Kinda expected that," Jack sighed, accepting the coffee Ianto just offered. "Thank you. Triple espresso shots for Gwen," he said before taking a sip. "Might want to give the tea straight, and let Shepard mix it. No telling what she likes."

"That was the idea, yes," Ianto gave him a confused look.

Jack shrugged. "She might not know what she likes either. New taste buds and everything."

"Are we going to talk about _the Doctor_, and his status with Torchwood?" Ianto asked.

Sighing again, Jack nodded. "When she's up and about, and not _delirious_ or anything. Not before."

* * *

"Oh, bless," Gwen said gratefully to Ianto for the huge mug of coffee she was just handed. She immediately took a sip.

Ianto looked their new visitor over. Owen had insisted she wear a filter mask, which made sense from what information they were given about her temporarily delicate condition. And with that in mind, he didn't like her colour. Reminded him of the times his sister had been feverish. "How's her temperature looking?"

Stretching a bit, Gwen took up the baby thermometer – a battery powered one – and gently placed it in her ear, clicking the button. After hearing the beep, she brought it up to look at the display. "Oh, bollocks. Thirty one, five. She wasn't shivering, so I didn't notice."

"The blanket was a clue, and her colour's off," he replied, pointing at the pushed aside cover. "Only child?" he asked her.

"Yeah, just me," Gwen said.

Nodding as he pulled the blanket back up over Shepard's shoulders, he glanced at her. "I have a sister. She'd get like this every year, like clockwork. Ruddy flu," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry," whispered out of Shepard's mouth.

Gwen leaned forward, running her hand over Shepard's forehead. "Shh. Just a dream."

Shepard startled awake. "Wha?" Blinking, she focussed on them. "Gwen? Ianto? I'm in Torchwood. Oh, it wasn't a nightmare," she lamented.

"Morning," Gwen said, smiling tiredly. "Sorry, no. Ianto made some tea. Feel like a cup?"

"Feel like I was hit in the head with _Mjölnir_," Shepard groaned. "Tea nice. Coffee better."

"That depends on how your stomach feels," Ianto said.

Turning in bed, Shepard made a face. "Not well."

"Tea it is, then," Ianto grinned. "I brought all the extras, but try it straight first."

Sitting up, she groaned as she watched Ianto pour a cup. "Oh, I feel absolutely horrid," Shepard complained. "Was told I'd feel full of energy, and want to run off dancing or whatnot. Liars, the lot of them. Thank you," she said, taking the cup and moving her mask. "I don't recognize the scent," she mumbled before taking a sip. "Needs honey and maybe some lemon?"

Gwen watched Shepard as she fixed her tea, knowing now that she actually was feverish. Her hands were shaky, and her eyes lingered closed more often than open. Closed in the way one would when they try not to think about things.

"Don't suppose there's a mirror about?" Shepard asked. "Be nice to see the face I got. Will have to get used to it now, I suppose. Don't believe much else changed. That's what had me worried the most, not being who I am."

"Is that common?" Gwen couldn't help but ask, reaching down for her purse.

Shepard tilted her head as she rubbed her forehead. "Yes and no. It's more of an individual thing. Some people, apparently like me, just gain a new appearance. Others can have massive personality changes that go along with the physical changes. That's what had me so scared. Sorry, and thank you for your help." She took another draw of her tea.

"I think that's completely understandable," Gwen replied, handing over a small mirror from her makeup kit.

After looking herself over for a bit, which included looking at her teeth and eyes in a very humorous manner, she clucked. "From grandmother to aristocratic noble. Well, at least I'm cute. I'd date me." She gave them a tired smirk. "This tea is lovely, by the way. What kind?"

"Simple breakfast, Twinnings," Ianto said. "Figured it would be easiest on the stomach."

"And my stomach thanks you," Shepard grinned. "Seems to be waking me up, too. Tannins and whatnot. High caffeine?"

"Moderate," Ianto said with a shrug.

"Hmm. Must be the tea itself," she blinked, thinking the Doctor was on to something with the tea, now that she thought about it. She shivered suddenly. "Is it me, or is it a bit chill?"

"You have a fever," Ianto said. "Thirty one, five."

"Oh _bollocks_," Shepard muttered. "I'm one of those."

"One of what?" Gwen asked.

"One of those that are susceptible to regeneration sickness," Shepard clarified. "I mean, it knocks us about anyway, but some take a bit to stabilize after. I can't remember the last time I've been sick. Please pardon me if I say something completely ridiculous. It's not that I feel silly, but random firings may go off. Oh, be one with yourself Yanyan, or do you have a twin?"

Ianto smirked, "Your eyes are slightly crossed."

"Really? How odd." She turned to Gwen. "You're very pretty, did I mention tha'?" she asked with a loopy grin.

Shepard tipped backwards. Ianto caught her tea, while Gwen blushed with big eyes. Head landing on the pillow, Shepard was out like a light again.

After a beat, Gwen leaned over to pull Shepard's filter mask back up over her nose and mouth. Ianto was still smirking.

"Not a word," she said, not looking at him.

Highly amused, Ianto set the tea back on the tray. "Didn't say anything."


End file.
